


new classic

by bageldiscourse



Series: the word that you heard [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Car repair, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bageldiscourse/pseuds/bageldiscourse
Summary: “Anyway, how’s your boy? Haven’t heard you talk about him in, like, a whole day.”“It’s not — we’re not like that. He ain’tmyboy, he’s just. A boy.”“A boy that you shared a frosty with,” Dylan says, very matter-of-factly, as if that means Auston, like,proposedor something. Jesus. “I’m just sayin’ I ain’t never shared a frosty with Davo.”“Bet you anything you wanted to, though,” Mitch says, which — again, doesn’t really help his case, but it’s true, so.





	new classic

Mitch falls in love over the summer of his twentieth birthday, and nobody could tell him it wasn’t a completely on-brand experience. The best way to describe the first time Mitch saw Auston, he would tell you, if you asked, would be that it happened almost in slow motion, like one of the generic movies he always sees at the drive-in, the kind with a happy ending and plenty of fake deep self reflection, for some reason, although Mitch has never really been the self reflective type.

Here, he’ll walk you through it.

Mitch is idly messing with the motor engine of a car that’s beaten up past repair, at this point — Connor McDavid is paying him the biggest stack of cash Mitch has ever seen in his _life_ to be convinced there’s any hope for the rusty thing, so he’s trying, but really, Davo, just buy a new fucking car — when a guy walks in, runs a hand through his real life Disney prince hair, a cigarette tucked behind his ear as if it were a pencil, and he’s so Mitch’s type it’s ridiculous. He’s wearing blue jeans with too many rips in them to be practical, a shiny leather jacket layered over an off-white t-shirt, and a prizewinning half-smile, and the world stops entirely once Mitch registers that the guy’s walking directly towards him. Or, it does for Mitch, at least.

( _Get it together, Marner_ , he has to remind himself, because he’s known this guy for all of about forty seconds. Maybe less, Mitch couldn’t count for shit right now. He doesn’t even know this guy’s name, just that he’s incredibly fucked.)

“Hey there, James Dean,” Mitch says, wiping his oil-covered hands on his pants.

“Most people just call me Matty, actually.”

“Matty,” Mitch repeats. “That short for somethin’?”

“Matthews,” says the guy. “Auston Matthews.”

“Pleased to meet you, Auston,” Mitch says. “Name’s Mitch, short for Mitchell.”

“Or Mitchy,” someone yells.

“Call him Mouse, he _hates_ that,” another shouts out.

“Hey, Zachy? Willy?” Mitch calls over his shoulder, trying to will his cheeks from turning red as he does so. “Get bent.”

Innocent-enough laughter floats out of the break room where Zach and Willy are definitely not-working, but Mitch can’t bring himself to care about any of that right now, not when this Auston Matthews kid is smiling at him like he hung the moon in the damn sky.

“Mitch,” Auston says. “I dig it.”

“Yeah? Good thing, ‘cause I can’t change it now,” Mitch jokes, mostly because he thinks it’ll widen the shy smile on Auston’s face. It works. “So, Matty, you got a set of wheels?”

Auston nods, letting Mitch lead him further into the shop as they talk. “A pretty little hopped-up flip top, she is.”

Mitch raises his eyebrows, impressed. “She got a name? I’d love to meet her.”

“Greased Lightning,” Auston says, runs a hand through his hair again, a little worriedly this time, and Mitch thinks his knees might give out at the sight. “She’s been havin’ some engine troubles lately.”

“That so?” Mitch says, leaning back on the car he’d been working on. “Well, bring her in tomorrow, and I’m sure we can get her fired up in twenty-four hours tops, no sweat.”

“Sweet,” Auston says. “So — I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Mitch agrees, grinning stupidly as Auston makes his way out of the shop.

“Someone’s got the hots for Matts,” Zach sing-songs as he and Willy walk out of the break room, Willy’s perfect hair a little disheveled, Zach’s lips a little puffier and redder than normal.

Mitch could tease them for it, but he’s a great friend. Possibly the best Zach and Willy will ever have. (That, and he thinks it’s probably hypocritical to confront someone about their feelings when he can’t even ‘fess up to his own first.)

“That’s — what are you — I don’t even _know_ him,” Mitch sputters, which doesn’t really help his case, since he doesn’t deny it.

“Lucky for you, I do,” Willy says. “Got into town not a few weeks ago, he was studying in Switzerland for a year before that.”

“Big deal,” Mitch mutters.

“And let’s just say you’re not the first to fall head-over-heels upon first meeting the guy,” Zach adds, which. Is certainly interesting information to have, in Mitch’s opinion. “Word on the street is he and that Werenski kid went steady for awhile before he left town.”

*

Auston does return the next day to drop off his car, and to Mitch’s surprise, he comes back the next day, too, wanders into the shop whistling to a Johnny Cash song as he greets Mitch. He’s got a cigarette hanging from his mouth and as the purple and blue hue of the sunset lighting up is kind eyes from behind, Mitch looks up and is so distracted by the picture it paints that he almost doesn’t hear Auston say, “How’s she doin’?”

“Matts, hey,” Mitch says, snapping out of his — _whatever’s_ happening with him right now, and Mitch could swear up and down he’s had crushes before, that he’s not usually this much of a mess, but that would be a straight-up lie. “I’m just doin’ some finishing touches, but Greased Lightning is as good as fixed.”

“I think it’s real cool that you’re doin’ this for me,” Auston says.

“Oh, like I said, it’s no sweat,” Mitch says, looking very pointedly at his boots. “All part of the job.”

“I could…” Auston starts, scratching the back of his neck a little nervously. “I mean, I could take you for a spin when you get off? As a thank you, since I’m a little tight on cash right now.”

Finally, at that, Mitch looks up from the car. “You’d do that?”

Auston shrugs. “Why not? We’ll swing by the Frosty Palace, my treat.”

“It’s a date,” Mitch says, before panicking a half-second later over his less than stellar word choice. “Not, like, a _date_ date,” he corrects quickly, “just — you know what I mean.”

“Hey, yeah,” Auston says, smiling this soft, warm thing that Mitch can’t help but dwell on a beat too long. “It’s a date.”

“Right,” Mitch says. “Cool.”

(It’s not at all cool.)

“You don’t mind if I stay and watch you work, do ya?” Auston asks. “I mean, I ain’t got nothin’ better to do, and you’re not the worst company.”

In his head, Mitch has the most dramatic of heart attacks because, like, Auston can’t just _say_ things like that. What the hell. “Nah, I don’t mind,” Mitch says, pleased with how even his voice ends up sounding. “Come here,” he says, patting the hood of the car, “sit up here while I tell ya ‘bout why her engine was goin’ out like it was.”

*

It’s not much later when they’re walking into the Frosty Palace, shoulder-to-shoulder and so close their hands brush after every few steps, like little sparks of electricity running through his veins come alive when he’s around Auston.

That was too fucking poetic, Jesus. Mitch has to call himself out for that one.

Anyway.

He immediately recognizes Lawson fucking around with Dylan as they walk through the doorway, calling out their names once he’s within earshot.

“Marns, hey,” Lawson grins, getting up to find a table for the two of them.

“Crouser, how goes it?”

“Not too bad, not too bad,” Lawson says. “You two here for some dinner? Follow me.”

He seats them in a booth in the corner, by the window, and as he walks away he says, in Dylan’s general direction, “Yo, Stromer. Your turn.”

Dylan looks up, then, and his face lights up when he sees Mitch. “Long time no see,” he says, grinning a little lopsided as he fishes in his apron pocket for his notepad and pen.

“We ain’t all got hours as long as you, hot-shot,” Mitch shoots back, and that gets a good chuckle out of Dylan.

He always did know how to make Dylan laugh from day one, and it’s clear that nothing’s changed in nearly eight years of knowing him.

“So what’ll it be, boys?” Dylan asks.

“One chocolate frosty, two straws,” Auston says.

Out of habit, Dylan starts to scribble _chocolate frosty_ , but then Auston’s words register with him, and he looks up and gives Mitch a _look_ , and Mitch gives him one right back, and Dylan leaves to put in their order before Auston has time to notice any of it.

Whatever, Dylan Strome has always been kind of a weird kid. Mitch has known him for so long, he’s hardly fazed at this point.

Once Dylan returns with their milkshake and two straws, Mitch spends too long trying to suppress a blush when he and Auston go for their respective straws at the same time, and they end up just — looking at each other, waiting for the other to move first, probably.

It’s romantic and sappy and embarrassing and it makes Mitch feel like he’s in middle school again, ducking under the bleachers with the guy he liked, almost as nervous to make the first move as the other boy was.

Maybe if he was still a kid and too careful around the edges, less of a mess of adolescent impulses, he wouldn’t have the courage he has now to say, “Would you maybe wanna go to the passion pit with me this weekend?”

But he does, the words falling right out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Auston takes a very thoughtful sip before replying, “I would love to go to the passion pit with you,” and God, he has no right to be so casual about this, because Mitch is seriously about to die. “Anything good playing Friday?”

“I haven’t got a clue what’s playing Friday, actually,” Mitch says, now well past the point of trying to persevere his dignity. “My shift at the shop ends at seven, though, if y’wanna pick me up then.”

“It’s a date?” Auston offers, smug.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, drinking enough milkshake to give himself brain freeze, because he’s nothing if not notorious for making bad decisions. “It’s a date.”

He doesn’t correct himself, this time.

*

On Fridays, Dylan and Lawson and Nick get off work at six, and Mitch at seven, so he meets them at the Frosty Palace for an early dinner of a generous plate of fries and milkshakes and they shoot the shit for a while.

It’s been an unofficial tradition for as long as Dylan’s had his job there, a grand total of a month and a half. Honestly, considering Dylan’s tendency to flirt with a record number of customers and generally ignore his actual job responsibilities, Mitch is just surprised Dylan hasn’t been fired yet.

“How’s business at the shop goin’?” Nick asks, once he’s taken a break from looking at Dylan the same way that like, Mitch’s parents did in their wedding photos, or how Zach and Willy do sometimes. Whatever’s going on there, Mitch just hopes it all works out.

“Oh, it’s goin’ alright,” Mitch says, grinning as he snaps his gum out of habit, and Lawson rolls his eyes to that much too emphatically than is necessary, really. “Easiest cash I ever made, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“You’re gonna rot your teeth with all that chewin’ gum, I swear,” Lawson says.

“You’re one to talk,” Mitch replies, gesturing at the cup of coffee in between Lawson’s hands, good for his fourth of the night. “You got any _blood_ in your veins anymore, or is it all just coffee?”

“Okay, okay, cool it, you got me,” Lawson chuckles, throwing his hands up in mock offense. “Anyway, how’s your boy? Haven’t heard you talk about him in, like, a whole day.”

“It’s not — we’re not like that. He ain’t _my_ boy, he’s just. A boy.”

“A boy that you shared a frosty with,” Dylan says, very matter-of-factly, as if that means Auston, like, _proposed_ or something. Jesus. “I’m just sayin’ I ain’t never shared a frosty with Davo.”

“Bet you anything you wanted to, though,” Mitch says, which — again, doesn’t really help his case, but it’s true, so.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lawson interrupts, accompanied by a very emphatic eyeroll. “I think it’s cute, Marns. Didn’t he take you down to the passion pit the other day?”

“Well,” Mitch says, “yes, but—”

“But nothin’,” Dylan says. “Did he buy you popcorn?”

“I mean, yeah—”

“And I’m sure he didn’t try to hold your hand during the movie, did he?” Lawson says, taking a weird amount of pleasure in this conversation while Mitch, on the other hand, would like to leave immediately, thank you so much.

“Well, he didn’t _not_ try to hold my hand—”

“You’re impossible,” Dylan sighs — _actually sighs_ , because he’s the most dramatic human alive, which isn’t really news to anyone. Sometimes, Mitch wonders if he was born this dramatic, or if it’s like, an acquired skill.

(Not that anyone asked, but if Mitch had to choose one, he’d say Dylan came out of the womb with a foul mouth and it only went downhill from there.)

“Were you _born_ this dramatic?” Mitch asks, because he can’t help himself. “Or is it just a skill the rest of us mere mortals have yet to catch onto?”

Dylan tries and, of course, fails, to look bothered as he says, “Don’t be a nosebleed.” Which is really just code for _yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve always been this dramatic, thanks so much for asking_ and Mitch doesn’t even need to think twice about it to know that’s what Dylan means.

“ _You’re_ the nosebleed,” Mitch says, and then he and Dylan just laugh, for a minute, because they go back, like, eight years, and yeah, they’ve always been this dumb, but Dylan’s his best friend, and he always will be.

“I’ve gotta jet,” Lawson says, getting up after he finishes the rest of his cup of coffee. “Figure your shit out, Marner. Stromer, Merks, see ya.”

“See ya, Law,” the three of them reply in unison.

The sun starts setting not too long after, and Mitch’s first thought as soft light streams through the window is that Auston should be here to see this.

Which, if Mitch really thinks about it, is dumb. Like, Auston’s probably in his room, cigarette in his mouth, looking out the window in awe at the same blue-pink-orange sky that Mitch is right now, but. It’s just different, is all, when Auston’s one sunset and a daydream away from being where Mitch wants him to be.

*

Honestly, Mitch’s expecting Auston to like, realize Mitch isn’t as cool as the facade he puts on leads him to believe and leave him alone for a little, or something. Only, he doesn’t.

In fact, Mitch sees more of Auston in the next few weeks after the passion pit than he does Zach and Willy, his own _coworkers_.

(They’re always in the break room anyway, making out or doing something else equally gross and couple-y, but like. Still.)

Not that he’s counting, but Auston walks into the shop as Mitch is finishing up hotwiring Mikey McLeod’s ride and makes himself comfortable sitting on top of Mitch’s desk, starts rambling about his day, wearing those really impressively stupid ripped jeans again, and it’s just — so surreal, honestly, that this is his life right now.

It’s been three weeks. That’s the point he was trying to make.

It’s Thursday, today, and Mitch meets Auston at the Frosty Palace for dinner after he gets off work. Mitch teases Auston for pulling his chair out for him, “like a real gentleman,” but Auston just grins and orders them another milkshake to split.

Mitch pays this time, insisting that it’s his turn, and they walk in relative silence to Auston’s car.

Auston doesn’t immediately turn the car on, and they’re sitting under the stars for awhile, and though it’s nice he can’t help feeling like there’s something different about tonight, though, which—

“Was this a date?” Mitch asks suddenly, when his brain finally puts two and two together and realizes that he’s never sat opposite one of his friends like this, or shared a milkshake with them, or argued over who pays at the end, which, besides tonight it’s always been Auston, but that’s only because he never _lets_ Mitch, and—

“I mean.” Auston pauses, tries to choose his words carefully, which is probably for the best, either way. “They’ve all been dates?”

And that’s. Something.

“They have,” Mitch repeats, not necessarily agreeing, just kind of letting himself believe the words hanging in the air, because in what weird universe, so far away from the one Mitch’s used to living in would Mitch Marner be going on dates with Auston Matthews, in what world would he be _dating_ Auston Matthews—

“I should kiss you,” Mitch says, and when he turns his head to do so, Auston’s grinning, and later they’ll disagree over who kissed who first, because they both lean at the same time.

*

[epilogue]

“Hey, so,” Auston says, sometime later, and Mitch picks his head up from where he’s testing the battery of the car Dylan’s older brother dropped off late the night before. “I could go for a frosty right about now, couldn’t you?”

It’s then that, when he really thinks about it, Mitch realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “I could eat,” he shrugs. “But I don’t get paid till Friday, so you’re buyin’.”

“Deal,” Auston says, easy. He hops down from Mitch’s desk. “Shall we?”

Mitch nods, following Auston out. “We’re leavin’!” he calls out to Zach and Willy, who are, to the surprise of no one, in the break room, together.

Mitch is starting to think they get paid to be on break, honestly. He hasn’t seen Willy doing actual work in, like, at least a week.

“Make good decisions!” Zach calls back.

“I’ll do no such thing!” Mitch replies, getting in the passenger seat of Auston’s car with the biggest smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to lotts for letting me bring their auston/mitch sort-of grease au to life, i had so much fun with this. to laila as well for the beta, and to hailey, for the plot help while i was stuck for a miserable few days, what would i do without you all.
> 
> title is from the movie "another cinderella story."
> 
> i'm on [twitter](http://twitter.com/bboesers)!


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